Border Lord (18 page)

Once Miriam found out who'd given birth to Malcolm, she'd be madder than a wet cat. Out of revenge she might try to enforce the codicil to the marriage agreement he'd innocently signed eight years before. But Duncan was prepared to fight the devil and all the demons in hell to keep his son. "If she sides with Sinclair, we'll let her have a peek at the family Bible. For now, send a messenger with the tinker to Sinclair's. I want to know everything that goes on there. Oh, and get me Mrs. Elliott's key to the tunnel door. I've misplaced mine." A lie, for it wasn't missing at all. After they'd made love, Miriam had filched it again.

"I hope it works."

Feigning innocence, Duncan said, "The key?"

Angus raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed.

Duncan chuckled. "I canna remember a time when you disappointed me, Angus."

The soldier turned and walked to the door, mumbling, "Would that I could return the compliment."

During the following fortnight Duncan settled disputes ranging from a minor quarrel between the swineherd and the butcher to a major feud between his Armstrong and Lindsay cousins over a broken betrothal.

Duncan thought of Miriam and wondered how large a dowry her father would offer. Sadly he realized he didn't know who her father was.

The messenger wore out a path and nearly winded his horse on the two-hour ride between Sinclair land and Kildalton. He related that Lady Miriam had ridden to the hounds with the baron. Lady Miriam had been crowned the Queen of the Frost Fair. Lady Miriam had danced three minuets and a twosome reel with the duke of Perth, who'd stopped on his way home from London. Lady Miriam had gone a-hawking with Avery Chilton-Wall. Lady Miriam had lost at chess to the baron.

Duncan thought of the many nights Miriam had spent under his roof and castigated himself for never testing her skill at chess.

Leaving Angus in charge of the castle defense, Duncan took a small force of clansmen and the local doctor, and visited every village in Kildalton. In preparation for winter, fuel shortages were alleviated, fences mended, roofs thatched.

Back at Kildalton Castle, he found himself in the garden at moonrise. The darkened window of Miriam's chamber reflected the bleakness in his heart.

He missed her.

Tormented by the bittersweet revelation, he trudged into the tunnel. He needed no light to find the secret passageway outside her chamber; he'd traveled these tunnels from the time he could walk. Sliding open the panel behind the wardrobe, he was seduced by the bracing fragrance that lingered in the gowns she'd left behind. His senses heightened by the absence of light, he stroked the garments, feeling the nubby texture of brocade, the furry nap of velvet, the airy delicacy of watered silk.

Elegant gowns, costly gowns, gowns to charm a foreign king. But in her quest to snare a Border Lord, she garbed herself in modest frocks of serviceable wool. Then she'd laid siege to his heart.

Would Duncan Armstrong Kerr yield? Not with so formidable an ally as the Border Lord.

Thoughts of his dark persona demanded a bold new strategy. Patting himself on the back, Duncan returned to his chamber, donned the clothing of the Border Lord and planned his next seduction.

Duncan never got the chance to carry it out, for at dusk Mrs. Elliott came to his chamber to announce the unexpected arrival of the duchess of Perth.

"Tell me it isna true," he said, a lamp chimney in his hand, his fingers coated with lampblack.

The housekeeper twitched her button nose and stared at the black scarf draped over his shoulder. "As you wish, my lord. 'Tis not the duchess of Perth leading an entourage through the gate, but Eleanor of Aquitaine come to claim her firstborn son, who's now purging the buttery of infidels."

Duncan put down the cylinder of glass, wiped his hand, and grasped a moment's respite before his life erupted into chaos. "Should I discipline young Richard the Lionheart before or after I receive the good duchess?"

Her brown eyes crinkled with mirth. "'Tis not for me to say. But I will remind your lordship that when last she visited you said conversing with Her Grace was like bartering with a Turk over the very last horse."

Duncan winced at the memory. Lord, the duchess could meddle. "Why is she here?"

"The messenger said she's on her way down from Perth to join her husband at Sinclair's. It's to be a hunt and a ball."

"Last week 'twas a frost fair." Where Miriam was crowned queen, he thought sourly. "Perhaps the duchess will be so anxious to see the duke that she wilna stay long."

"I'm sure the housemaids are praying for the onset of her wifely devotion, my lord. They're tidying the large suite now."

He bowed from the waist. "Then I'll change clothes and prepare to dodge her verbal arrow."

Mrs. Elliott sniffed and plucked at the lace on her apron. "Why is she so insistent that you marry again, my lord?"

"I suppose she canna stand to see a man happy."

The housekeeper turned to go but stopped. "My lord…" Her voice dropped. " 'Tisn't fair to the lad Saladin, the way master Malcolm's acting. The Moor can't help the way he was taught to worship."

Her sense of fairness pleased Duncan. "What did Malcolm do?"

"He makes fun of the lad, who doesn't eat meat or take spirits. Malcolm also dances around the Moor when he's praying."

"Thank you, Mrs. Elliott. You're a woman of justice. Tell Malcolm and Saladin they're to stay the night with Angus, and report to me in the morning. Oh, and give the housemaids the honey I brought from Dearcag Moor."

Standing taller, she grasped the door handle. "Aye, my lord. Honey or no, you'll hear nary a quibble from anyone while the duchess is here. We need no bribes. We're loyal to you." Glancing over her shoulder, she stared at his black clothing. "If I may say so, you cut an especially braw figure tonight as the Border Lord."

Flattered, Duncan watched her leave. As he exchanged the black raiments for his Kerr tartan, he tamped back disappointment. Tonight's raid to retrieve his stolen cattle would have to wait. The duchess wouldn't. Only one aspect of the evening pleased him; with the scribe Saladin out of the castle, Duncan could forego disguises.

By the time Duncan reached the dining hall, the duchess reigned at the head of the table. The panniered skirt of her white gown billowed around her, obscuring her chair and the table legs. Ropes of pearls hung in triple festoons from her bodice, which was cut barely an inch above her nipples. Current fashion, it seemed, was the duchess's only saving grace.

The observation surprised Duncan, for he couldn't remember ever noticing her feminine assets. Slowing his steps, he thought of Miriam's fancy gowns in the wardrobe upstairs and wondered if the bodices had been fashioned to accentuate her feminine charms. How many men had seen her so daringly revealed?

Jealousy seared him. Why didn't she dress that way for him?

Halfway across the room, he stopped, but like a hunter on the prowl, his male pride went in search of a victim.

"What's wrong, Duncan?" The duchess put down her tankard. "You looked peaked."

Her waspish voice reminded him that he had bigger problems than jealousy. He smiled and approached the table, his hand extended. "I'm fine, Your Grace. I simply canna remember seeing your charms displayed in so bonnie a gown."

She snatched up her fan and tapped his knuckles. At forty years old, her graying hair hidden beneath a powdered wig, the duchess could still play the coquette. "Since when do you play the flatterer, Lord Duncan? You've never cared a farthing for fashion or flirting."

The truth of her challenge gave him pause. But he had no time to examine the changes that were ripping his life apart. He drew back his hand. "Life on our side of the Border isna conducive to fancy frocks and courtly manners. 'Tis all we can do to put food in our bellies and hold on to what little our forebears left us."

Curiosity glittered in her eyes. "Something's different about you, my lord."

Had someone disclosed his dual identity? No. It was only her dreaded verbal haggling. He took the seat at the other end of the table. "I canna imagine what you mean, unless I need a barbering."

"Not that. You seem so… so determined and comfortable with yourself."

Trying not to smile, Duncan laid his napkin in his lap and lied. "Because I'm hungry and glad to see you?"

Her eyes rounded in surprise. Her fork clattered onto the pewter plate. "There. What you just said. That's what I mean. You're not usually so… cordial and gallant."

He had been remote, he supposed, but visits from the nosey duchess and her kind were always a trial. Invariably they were journeying to or returning from the pomp and boredom of Anne's court. Common decency made him offer her and other travelers hospitality; protocol forced him to endure her company.

Mentally arming himself for a battle of words, he poured himself a mug of beer. "I hadna noticed, Your Grace, but come to think of it, we havna had so many visitors since Anne took the throne."

"You were a child then."

Astounded, he said, "Your Grace, I'm thirty-six years old. The queen took the throne eleven years ago. I was hardly a child."

She stared at the fingers on her left hand, moving them in sequence as she tried to make the simple subtraction.

He reached for the pitcher. "More beer?"

She gave a guilty start, then sighed dramatically. "Ah, Duncan. Why must you shun my efforts to be your friend? I only want to help you and liven your life."

"You're kind to do so. 'Tis dreadfully boring in the Borders."

"Oh?" She tapped her little finger with the tines of the fork. "Adrienne Birmingham disappeared." She tapped her ring finger. "You turned out your mistress." The fork touched her middle finger. "Miriam MacDonald has been staying with you. Hardly boring occurrences. Shall I go on?"

He couldn't have felt more exposed had she watched him use the privy. For years he'd allowed her to meddle in his life because of her rank, and it was easier than arguing with her. He thought of Miriam and her mastery of conversation. He'd trade all the salt in Kildalton for a fraction of her expertise. What would she do in a similar situation? The answer inspired him.

"You're prying again." He picked up his fork and tapped his finger in imitation of her. "Adrienne Birmingham is old enough to go off on her own. I tired of my mistress. Miriam MacDonald is here on an official assignment."

She toyed with her pearls. "You're defending yourself, and rather aggressively. Why?"

An angry retort leapt to his lips, but he refused to utter it. He would keep his temper in check. But if he were to use Miriam's methods, he had to use them all. "You're too observant."

"You're so charmingly blasé, my lord," she chided. "I have only your best interests at heart."

"Then you've succeeded, for your visit makes me extraordinarily happy."

"That's news. Perhaps you could make me
extraordinarily
happy by telling me you've found another wife."

He had found a woman to love, he thought sadly, but if Miriam learned the truth about her lover, he didn't stand a beggar's chance at winning her. What a coil he'd gotten himself into. Saddened, he said, "When I do chose a wife, I wilna draw breath before informing you."

A frown wrinkled her brow and puckered her painted lips. "You have always been far too secretive about personal matters. But this boldness, Duncan. I don't know what to make of it."

As if it were in her jurisdiction to do so. Seizing the opportunity to lighten the conversation, he said, "You could make a feather of it and put it in your cap."

The fan flew to her mouth, but didn't muffle her laughter. "Your wit grows bolder, too. But what, I wonder, do you truly think of Lady Miriam?"

From the knowing look in her eye, Duncan suspected she could provide information about Miriam MacDonald. Expectation made his blood race, but he schooled his features into blandness. "She's another of the queen's minions here on a fruitless task. Besides, she isna here at all. She's off to Baron Sinclair's."

Like a merchant trying to drive up the price of her wares, the duchess underplayed the situation. "She's beautiful and brilliant, and she has no interest in marriage."

A lie slipped easily from his lips. "Then we have one thing in common."

Seriousness smoothed out her features. She leaned forward, exposing the crests of her nipples, which she'd rouged. "She's never failed at a diplomatic task, Duncan. She struck a peace between France and England."

She'd started a war in his heart. He wondered just how much the duchess would reveal about Miriam. "I doona ken why the queen rewarded so brilliant a negotiator with a sojourn in the Border," he said and speared a leg of rabbit he didn't want. "Sounds very much like punishment to me."

Her expression turned cool. She sipped the beer. "Indeed it was. Lady Miriam was impudent. She angered the queen."

Every exchange in the conversation seemed a piece on a chessboard. He must think ahead and play skillfully. But the exercise was exhausting. Miriam spent her life in such contests. He both envied and sympathized with her. "So? How did she manage that?"

The duchess shifted in her chair, her attention riveted on the bones on her plate. "I'm not at liberty to divulge that."

Ha! The nosy biddy didn't know. "If Lady Miriam's so clever, surely she could sway the queen. Anne isna our most stalwart sovereign." Duncan took a bite of the hare.